


The Art of Storm Riding

by crashinmyimagination



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Porn, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashinmyimagination/pseuds/crashinmyimagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel contemplates and then takes action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Storm Riding

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting around to transferring my fics over from Livejournal, so this is an older fic. This takes place in the middle of Season 6.

Castiel realizes that he should rejoin the war efforts when the sun starts to set. He’s perched on the peak of Aoraki, rock and snow beneath his feet and a landscape of grasslands and oceans spread out below him. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, but he knows that it’s been long enough for the iridescent blue waters and the grass on the plains to become bathed in a clay red light as the sky starts its journey toward darkness.

Occasionally, when the search for biblical weapons comes to a standstill and during the idle, quiet moments between battles, Castiel escapes the suffocating grips of the war and blocks out the murmurs of his brothers in order to contemplate. Even though the voices of the other angels are to him what the sounds of traffic and construction are to a city boy - a constant background noise that can be comforting – sometimes, it’s not what he needs.

It is easy to lose sight of what he is fighting when his brothers are killed beside him as well as by his own hand in a war that often appears senseless and infinite. His escapades remind him of the beauty and value humans and the Earth hold.

As Castiel gazes at the bloody horizon, his thoughts gravitate toward the man who catalyzed his transformation, as they are wont to do. He no longer tries to draw his mind away from Dean, because he knows such efforts are futile.

He does not visit Dean in these moments because he cannot contemplate when he is around Dean, can hardly even think. He can only focus on the conviction in Dean’s rough voice and the jut of his lips when he furrows his eyebrows in determination. More often than not, Dean acts on instinct and Castiel usually cannot help but respond in kind. Arousal is becoming an unavoidable constant when he is around Dean. Castiel only appears to Dean as removed and emotionless because it helps him see reason and sense when it is often hard to do so near Dean. 

Castiel knows that Dean thinks that he has reverted back to the angel Dean met in the barn after regaining his angel status and powers, but he also knows that this is not true. 

Castiel may not be human anymore, no longer able to feel the biting cold or the raw pain of a wound, but he can never forget what it was like. He can no longer feel detached when he sees a father mourn the death of his son or a woman embraces her soldier husband for the first time in two years. He can no longer feel pain the same way humans do, say, if someone was to stab him in the chest, but he can feel the anger or despair that may cause such an action, which cuts him just as deep. Castiel has learned that he can push his grace within himself enough to feel pleasure and pain like a human, if he so wishes. 

While he knows that he cannot attribute his dissent entirely to Dean - there had to be at least an inkling of doubt within him for him to have strayed from the same path as the other angels – Dean awakened a storm inside Castiel that he cannot dissipate. 

Castiel hears a soft bleating that snaps him out of his reverie. He looks down to see a young mountain goat stumbling along the rocks. Upon closer inspection, Castiel observes that one of the kid’s back legs is wounded and bleeding, probably from barely escaping the mouth of a predator. He hears the pain in the goat’s cries as it tries to climb the rocks with its lame leg. Castiel has no doubt that it will lose its life to the next predator that happens upon it. He strides toward it and captures it with ease, enveloping its injured leg with his hand and healing it. When he lets it go, it staggers for a few seconds before regaining its balance and wandering off contently, unquestioning of its miraculous recovery. 

Castiel surveys the horizon once more and knows that he’s been fighting this war too long when he starts imagining that the red water is the blood of his brothers. 

Castiel lets the voices of his brothers wash over him again. Almost immediately, Dean’s voice pierces through the wave like an air horn blaring in a library. Castiel notes, bemused, that Dean’s voice would probably get more attention.

 _Cas! I’ve got good news. We finally – just come. I wanna tell you in person._

Castiel deliberates half-heartedly on whether to go to Dean, but knows that he is in no hurry to return to the battle and that he can never stay from Dean for long, even if it’s just to observe him. 

When Castiel flutters into the Bobby’s kitchen, Dean is cracking open a bottle of beer next to the fridge.

“Hey,” Dean greets, grinning. It’s been a while since Castiel’s seen Dean in such high spirits. 

“Hello, Dean. What did you want to tell me?”

Dean’s face falls slightly at the curt answer, but he shakes it off easily. “We finally got Sam’s soul back, Cas. Do you know what that means? I don’t have to worry about him murdering me in my sleep anymore.”

Despite Dean’s playful manner, Castiel can tell that he is truly relieved. “How? And how-how is he?”

Dean waves a hand in dismissal. “It’s complicated. Boy, is it complicated. Sam’s fine. There’s a wall blocking out his memories of hell. We’re good. At least until the wall comes down. Then-then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. He’s conked out upstairs right now. He’s catching up.”  
Castiel feels a wave of relief wash over him at the news, but also finds himself concerned. Castiel wants to mention that there will probably be a fallout, one that will devastate both Dean and Sam, but he has a feeling Dean already knows and that that’s not what he wants to hear. “Okay.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Okay? That’s it? No ‘I’m glad Sam has his soul back’ or ‘Congratulations, you win the award for best brother in the universe’? Not even a smile?”

“I _am_ glad, Dean. But there are other things on my mind. There is still a war going on in heaven.”

Dean shakes his head. “Man, I should’ve known better than to have expected some kind of reaction out of you. If I had known that you didn’t give a shit, then I would have just sent a postcard or something.”

Castiel frowns. “You can’t send postcards to heaven.”

“You know what I mean.” Dean turns away from Castiel. “Whatever. I should have known that you’d go back to being heaven’s bitch boy as soon as you got your mojo back.”

Before he even finishes the sentence, Dean’s back slams hard against the wall, the lapels of his jacket clenched tightly in Castiel’s fists and his bottle spilling beer onto the floor. 

Dean’s eyes widen in shock and confusion and his body tenses, as if he’s getting ready for a hit, but Castiel only leans in to whisper against his ear, “I assure you, I am not heaven’s _bitch boy_.” 

At this proximity, he can hear Dean’s heart beating faster and his breath getting shorter. Castiel rests his forehead on the wall beside Dean’s head and closes his eyes, whispering, sharp and wrecked, “Do you have _any_ idea what you do to me?”

“Cas-” Dean starts, eyes and voice soft. Castiel doesn’t let Dean finish, just lifts his head off the wall and slips his lips over Dean’s. Dean inhales sharply, but lets Castiel ravish his mouth. Castiel pulls Dean’s lower lip in between his own lips and runs his tongue along the length of it. Dean parts his lips slightly to emit a soft pleased sound, slipping his own tongue along Castiel’s mouth. When Castiel pulls his mouth away, he sees panic and lust battle for dominance on Dean’s face.

“I- I don’t want-” Dean stutters. 

Castiel slides the flat of his palm against Dean’s crotch and _presses_. Dean’s eyes flutter closed as he bites his swollen bottom lip to suppress a moan. Castiel’s voice is so low and hoarse Dean can barely hear him. “You don’t want what? You don’t want my tongue in your mouth or a hand on your dick? You don’t want me to suck you off or to fuck me? You don’t want _me_?”

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean gasps, knocking Castiel’s hand away and pulling Castiel’s body flush against his. Dean’s head thumps against the wall as he grips Castiel’s waist and grinds against him. “The, _uuuh_ , the couch. We should move to-”

Castiel immediately transports them to the living room, shoving Dean onto the couch and dropping unceremoniously to his knees. Before Dean can even register it, Castiel has Dean’s zipper down and his cock out.  
Castiel closes his mouth around the head, sweeping his tongue along the slit and around the head. Dean’s mouth falls open in a silent groan as Castiel slides his mouth down the length of his cock. Castiel lets his tongue skate along the underside of Dean’s cock, throat constricting around the head. 

"Okay, this - _ohhh_ \- this might sound weird, but I am so glad you don't need to breathe," Dean pants as he threads his fingers through Castiel's hair. Castiel lets Dean control the movement of his head, darting his eyes up along the length of Dean's body appreciatively. Dean slides his cock in and out of Castiel’s mouth in broad, furious motions, pulling out almost completely before shoving back in. 

Abruptly, Castiel pulls away from Dean’s grip and crawls onto his lap, knees hugging Dean’s hips and hands cradling his head as Castiel leans in to kiss him again. When they pull apart, Dean lets out a soft huff of laughter and pants, “This is kind of an undignified position for an angel.” 

“Well, I am no longer the same _dignified_ angel I once was.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

Castiel is quiet for a moment. “Yes, I am.”

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and in an instant, both of their clothes are gone. Dean grins. “Now that’s useful.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist and tugs his hand to his mouth, drawing his index finger between his lips. Dean furrows his eyebrows. “What- what are you doing?”

“It would be customary for you to stretch me now, yes?” Castiel says before he starts lapping at Dean’s middle finger.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says breathlessly as he eyes the way Castiel’s mouth wraps around his fingers. 

Dean reluctantly pulls his fingers out of Castiel’s mouth and reaches under him, pushing his index finger in first. Even slathered in saliva, it’s a tight fit, and Castiel buries his grace just enough to feel the burn. Dean soon slides in a second finger, thrusting his fingers in and out before scissoring them. Castiel bats Dean’s hand away shortly after, finding that he actually has little patience within himself to continue with the stretching when it is not necessary. 

Castiel holds Dean’s cock still as he bears down on it until it is completely sheathed, his mouth slack and eyes hooded. Castiel lets his eyes slide closed as he focuses on the sensation of Dean’s cock in his ass, invasive and full. Dean lets out a long groan when Castiel starts lifting up and sinking down on his cock in slow repetitive motions, balancing himself on his knees and with his hands gripping Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean’s hands clutch at Castiel’s ass cheeks, spreading them as he begins to drive himself into Castiel, hard and fast. With his grace buried, Castiel can feel the almost brutal grip of Dean’s hands on his ass and the stretch of his muscles around Dean’s cock, his breath coming in short spurts as he’s overcome by the sensations. Castiel cries out as Dean’s cock starts to hit his prostate, back arching at the spikes of pure pleasure shooting up his spine. 

As he rides Dean’s lap, Castiel grabs one of Dean’s wrists and pulls it to his own straining cock. Dutifully, Dean drags his tongue against the palm of his hand before he starts to jerk Castiel off, sliding his palm along the length of his hard cock. 

Castiel rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder and lets whimpers escape his mouth as Dean continues to pound against his prostate. Dean takes advantage of the proximity to mouth at his neck, sucking hard on the skin. His mouth nips and licks a path down Castiel’s neck and along his collarbone. Castiel moans at the added sensation of fire traveling along his skin and threads his fingers though Dean’s sweat slick hair. 

Pleasure builds inside Castiel and he feels a climax just beyond his reach as Dean rubs his cock in fast, aggressive strokes and fucks deep into him. Castiel works himself harder, ass tightening around Dean’s cock in anticipation of release. The ensuing whimper from Dean against Castiel’s neck shows just how undone and wrecked he is as well. 

When the orgasm hits him, Castiel tears his body away from Dean’s mouth and throws his head back in a guttural moan. Dean cannot help but follow as Castiel clenches around him like a vice, bucking up against Castiel as he rides out the orgasm. Castiel pulls off Dean’s cock and slumps against Dean as they try to catch their breaths, gasping and panting.

“Holy shit, Cas. Where did that come from?” Dean wheezes.

Castiel believes this is how it feels to be smug. “I learned that from the babysitter.”


End file.
